


Maybe I Shoulda Stopped Drinking Quicker

by StellarLibraryLady



Series: Star Trek Incandescent Hearts [56]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Anal Play, Anal Sex, Anilingus, Biting, Explicit Language, Fellatio, First Kiss, First Time, Foul Mouth (Both Kinds), Hangover, Language, Lube, M/M, Mild Blood, Neck Kissing, Not morning people, Rimming, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Roughness, Shower Sex, The Morning After The Night Before, Water, Water fetish, body aches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:22:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26331844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StellarLibraryLady/pseuds/StellarLibraryLady
Summary: A drinking binge has romantic consequences.
Relationships: Leonard "Bones" McCoy/Montgomery "Scotty" Scott
Series: Star Trek Incandescent Hearts [56]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/636956
Kudos: 8





	Maybe I Shoulda Stopped Drinking Quicker

"Hell!"

Roll over. Try again.

"Damnit!"

No better.

"Give me a break!"

Someone groaned. Was that even him?! And if not, then who? And while we're at it.... Where?!

"Now where in blue blazin' hell am I?!"

And worse expressions than that punctuated the stillness of the unnaturally quiet room. It was as if some alien door had momentarily opened to allow a really foreign entity inside, an entity that was having trouble adjusting to its new environment and wanted something, somewhere to be aware of its displeasure and angst. The room seemed to wait in horrified but paralyzed expectation to hear and to see what would come next. The cranky man with the foul mouth was just now trying to surface from an all-encompassing sleep which must have taken place at the bottom of some deep and narrow well by the effort he was using to try to awaken from it.

It wasn't all supposed to be that complicated.

All that Leonard McCoy had wanted to do was to see what his world looked like at that given moment. That was all. Just a quick look-see to quell the small pessimistic voice inside him that was always whispering to him first thing in the morning that his seemingly stable world was teetering on a slippery slope and would quickly be going to hell in a handbasket. But McCoy wanted to see for himself.

Was that too much to ask?! Just a simple glance to see that the day had really arrived as promised?! As the poet Robert Browning had once optimistically assured mankind, "All's right with the world." After a lifetime of knowing the real world, McCoy had decided a long time ago that Browning had probably put forth his optimistic picture of his environment in a burst of rosy idealism while attending a fun-filled country fair during the merry, merry month of May somewhere in Merry Olde England. Browning couldn't possibly be that devil-may-care if he'd known the world that McCoy knew.

Meanwhile, McCoy was not content to take Browning's or any other person's word about the state of the new day upon him. Even though it was good news to hear that it was a wonderful day that awaited him, couldn't McCoy make sure of that fact for himself?! Not that he doubted the clock or even Browning, but he just wanted to check out the situation so that he knew that the promise was really true.

But no! For every time he tried to assess his surroundings, a spotlight aimed right at him blazed on and threatened to burn out his corneas, retinas, and all other pertinent parts of his eyes that generally brought images to his brain. He gave up with a defeated groan when he saw the glare that his curiosity had produced for his squinting eyes. Not to mention the downright pain that shot through his entire head from his efforts. The dull throbbing was like forked lightning had decided to use his cranium for a light display. He'd like to give Robert Browning HIS take of the morning and then tell Browning what he could do with his asinine, simpering words!

But then, being the realist that he was, McCoy surmised correctly that the pain in his head was the result of a hangover and not by the brilliant light trying to blind him. He probably couldn't even blame it on a blow to his skull by a crazed Romulan in battle. (Although that scenario was entirely feasible seeing as how often crazed Romulans seemed to turn up on a fairly regular basis in this part of the galaxy. It was almost uncanny how the Enterprise crew just kept coming across them.)

Besides, McCoy wasn’t so far gone that he could not compute cause and effect, and he figured (correctly) that a recent drinking binge with a close buddy was the immediate cause of his body making all sorts of physical demands on him all at once now. And none of them sounded like any fun at all.

And he further surmised (correctly, also, it appeared) that whatever consequences he was currently suffering or would continue to suffer in the immediate future were probably his own damned fault and couldn't justifiably be laid at the feet of an invading Romulan, crazed or otherwise.

Perhaps he should’ve stopped at two drinks the night before. After all, two would’ve been a nice, sociable number that would’ve left a pleasant buzz in his head and led him gently into a deep night’s sleep.

Now that he thought about it, however, three drinks wouldn’t have even been so bad, either.

Or even four.

But he was getting the sneaking hunch that he hadn’t stopped at four. He probably had, in fact, buzzed right by that sensible number and had left it choking in the dust as he had propelled his hand up and down countless times with an accommodating drink in it.

As he recalled now, he and his drinking buddy hadn’t been measuring their consumption in glasses. Oh, no, not two veteran drinkers like them! These two guys had marked their alcoholic intake by the bottle. And McCoy recalled that quite a few bottles had bitten the dust in their mad drinking binge.

And he hurt all over his body, both inside and out. Bruises and scratches and sore muscles. And for some unaccountable reason, his tongue. Why his tongue?! Then he vaguely remembered a dream about licking a thousand ice cream cones. Or had he been a cat? Grooming another cat?! If only he could remember!

McCoy groaned aloud. No wonder he felt like a pile of crap that had been tossed aside to cool. That was probably what he deserved. Feeling like excrement, both inside and out.

McCoy glanced down and saw the naked, hairy, glaringly white side of a lower leg stuck out of tangled sheets. Probably cold as hell and I can’t even feel a thing. My circulation must be shot all to hell, he thought as he moved his feet to bring the wanton limb back into the warmth of the bedcovers. When the foot he had spotted didn’t move any but he knew that his own had, McCoy realized that the limb he had spotted wasn’t his own. That was when he decided that he wasn't alone in this messy bed.

As Spock would say, fascinating! Wonder who the naked, hairy leg belonged to then if it wasn't his?

He bent his elbow and drove it toward the center of the bed. It landed in soft tissue backed by bones (probably ribs), and someone grunted in more aggravation than pain. Good. That meant he hadn’t broken ribs for the person. At least not yet.

McCoy hoped it was female and that they had had a good time getting this bedding all messy.

In the same thought, McCoy hoped it wasn’t some female in bed with him. If it was female, she must be a horrible looker to have hairy legs like that. If it was indeed female and had legs like that, McCoy must have been desperate and a whole lot drunker than even he had initially suspected.

The person beside him moaned, tossed about fitfully, grunted again as if in distress, then farted loudly with great gusto (as McCoy grimaced in distaste). The person sighed in satisfaction, ruffled the covers, then settled down with an appreciative slopping together of the tongue and lips as if the person was suckling at an accommodating teat as an appropriate reward for its most recent conflicts of expelling morning gas.

McCoy’s face screwed down with disgust as a fog of tainted air enveloped both occupants of the rumpled bed. What in the hell had that person been eating, anyway?! Day-old road kill?! Skunk cabbage?! Vulture carcasses?! And washing it all down with rancid water from fetid pools hidden deep beneath rotting vegetation?!

Just who was this vulgar person who seemed to have no control over his own body? Of course, the person was asleep, McCoy tried to remind himself. He’d seen much worse behavior with Sickbay patients when they were sleeping, but they’d at least had the excuse of illness for uncontrolled bodily functions going astray.

Maybe McCoy could get more sleep. The miasma of smelly air caused by his gassy bed partner was dissipating to acceptable levels. He closed his eyes in determination, but they flew back open with just as much determination.

Balls! He had to visit the can! And fast! Both ends felt ready for blastoff.

McCoy threw the covers back, leaped out of bed, and raced for the bathroom door. Behind him, he heard a disgruntled voice protesting the noise and the bouncing of the bed. McCoy didn’t have time to explain. Some things just had to wait. Besides, he figured his companion would agree with McCoy’s urgency if the person knew all of the particulars that McCoy knew. And seeing as how the bathroom was one that McCoy didn’t recognize, he figured that his host would be interested in McCoy keeping it as clean as possible. And that might not be possible if he was delayed in this mission very much longer. Sometimes, even civilized people have to function on an elementary level, and this was one of those times for McCoy.

When McCoy staggered out sometime later, he felt somewhat emptier, but not anymore alert than when he’d made his mad dash to the head. At least he’d drunk some water out of the faucet and had swirled toothpaste around in his mouth to freshen it. He'd stopped at using the other person's toothbrush, however. But it did look mighty inviting, especially since McCoy's teeth had somehow become fur-bearing.

The toothpaste he’d found and used was Starfleet issue. And the other few contents of the medicine cabinet offered few clues to his host’s identity, except that the person was probably male. There were no makeup or tampons, just contraceptives, lube, and an electric shaver. Hmm. Very likely male, and a busy one at that, judging by the contraceptives and lube available. (Or an ugly woman who really needed to use that shaver on her hairy legs.)

McCoy shuffled to the bed, climbed gingerly back in, drew the covers up around himself again, sighed, then remembered the other guy and that he'd better make a bathroom visit before it became mandatory. He slapped out in the general direction of a rump that he remembered seeing humped up in the middle of the bed.

“Your turn,” he mumbled. Nothing. Maybe the other guy had already died. If so, he'd gotten off easy. But McCoy decided to make the bathroom invitation plainer. “I cleared it up as best I could in there, but beer farts and what follows them have some serious hang time. You might wanna hold your nose to keep from heaving, but I ain’t guaranteeing anything. Enter at your own risk.”

That message got a response. If the person had acted comatose or braindead before, he didn't now. It even crossed McCoy's mind to wonder if he'd disturbed a lion with a toothache instead of a sleep companion.

“Jasus Christabol and all the bloody saints who've gone before us!" the suddenly irate man bellowed with probably blazing eyes. "Have you no decency, man?! Let a man have his healing sleep before you start tearing his guts out all asunder after putting such awful visions in his head of your nasty bathroom habits!” roared an angry muffled voice that grew less muffled as covers flew every which way, especially over McCoy.

McCoy groaned. Apparently his bedmate was not a morning person. And he seemed to have a fouler way of greeting the day than even McCoy did. Poor Robert Browning! He would be so disappointed in the both of them.

And all of that loud yelling made McCoy realize that his supposed headache from a hangover was in fact a true headache, and one of the meanest ones he’d ever encountered. He longed for a hypospray to counteract his hangover and soothe his nausea. Because, as the body beside him bounced the bed in its gyrations to leave it, McCoy realized that he was dangerously close to upchucking the roiling contents of his queasy stomach even though he thought there was nothing left in there to lose.

“For the love of mercy,” McCoy moaned. “Stop rocking the boat! You’re making me want to throw up again!”

“Stop rocking the boat?! Stop rocking the boat?!” came the answer that bore into McCoy’s nerves with every screeching syllable. “I’ll rock your boat if you start spewing everywhere!” The last words were delivered much closer to McCoy’s suffering ears, and McCoy realized that the man was bending over him.

McCoy also realized that he knew that voice, had indeed heard it screeching in just such high frequency pitches on several occasions preceding this ill-fated morning. This was indeed a person known to McCoy. And apparently an acquaintance of some standing. Perhaps even a friend.

But McCoy had not parted company with the "gentleman", so it was hard telling if they would remain friends after this episode.

McCoy opened one eye, the one that was aimed for the ceiling, and saw Montgomery Scott glaring down at him with all of the Scottish ire he could muster in his outraged eyes. Scotty looked the way McCoy was feeling, only angrier.

“You puke in that bed, doctor dear, and you can clean it up with your ruddy nose!”

That did not seem like a prospect that McCoy wanted to face, so he gained control of his bile quickly enough.

Then he shoved Scotty aside. “Back off. I just thought I’d be kind and let you know that the bathroom was free. Phew!” he snorted as he scowled and waved the air away from him. “Your breath smells like you’ve been eating dead skunks pickled in brine!”

Scotty complied, but he was scowling, too. “And yours smells like my toothpaste.”

“Be happy I didn’t use your toothbrush,” McCoy mumbled as he closed his eyes and rubbed his face into the pillow.

“Why? What difference would it have made if you had?” Scotty wanted to know with a perfectly serious face and not one bit of mockery or teasing in his voice.

McCoy opened his eyes and squinted with disdain at the man hovering over him. “What difference would it have made?! What difference, you ask?! Why, all the difference in the world, you ignorant Scotsman! If you don’t know any better than that, you better retake a Health and Hygiene class online! In case you've never heard, people aren’t supposed to use one another’s personal health care products!”

“Why not?” Scotty asked innocently, his anger of a moment ago thoroughly banked.

McCoy couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Are you daft?! If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were pulling my leg! But you aren’t! Now, go away! Go away, and take your nonsense with you!” He closed his eyes and made an effort to go back to sleep.

“I don’t know what you’re carrying on for so," Scotty muttered. "After last night, I woulda thought that any behavior was alright with you. Sure was an eye-opener to me, I know," he grumbled under his breath as he shuffled away.

“What the hell are you talking about?!” McCoy demanded as his eyes flew open and he shot upward into a sitting position. He was treated to the view of a nude Scotty walking toward the bathroom. Just that quickly McCoy screwed his eyes tightly shut and bellowed, “And what the hell are you doing walking around naked?! Why do you think I want to see your scrawny butt?!” Then, just that quickly, he was putting up his hands, apparently to fend off something horrendously terrible as Scotty turned toward him. “Who wants to see that side of you, either?!” he demanded.

Scotty was standing there looking stunned back at McCoy, his face puzzled and his flaccid penis looking nothing like the pride of the Scott Family household. In fact the Wee Man Himself looked quite embarrassed by McCoy’s carrying on the way he was about the Scott Family Jewels being displayed so prominently.

“What the hell is your problem now?” Scotty wanted to know with just the edge of disgust in his voice. “It’s just me Willy flying free in the breeze. Seems you see enough of them in your line of work.” 

“I do. But in a clinical setting. This… this, what you’re doing, is, is, just… vulgar! Gowns on patients isn't just for their modesty, you know! Doctors get their fill of jarring pictures enough the way it is.”

“Well, may the Saints preserve us from the wrath of old maid Sunday School teachers such as yourself now I suppose,” Scotty muttered to himself. “Sorry to shock your sensibilities,” he muttered, not really caring if McCoy heard or understood what he was saying. Then he raised his voice so McCoy was certain to hear. “You were singing a different tune about me Willy last night in case you don’t know it, doctor dear. Of course, he was a lot more lusty then, but you approved wholeheartedly about how rampant he was. In fact, you kept wanting him to prove himself to you. In fact, you demanded it.”

McCoy looked stunned. “I did… What?!”

“Don’t be telling me now that you don’t remember what we were doing in that very bed until all hours of the morning!” Scotty thundered. “Don’t say that you don’t recall spreading that magnificent arse of yours wide open time and time again for me Willy to explore to his heart’s content! Don’t be saying that you didn’t groan in pleasure and lick me all over to prime me until I’d take you again! Even when I was tired and wanting me sleep, you kept that tongue going like there was a power motor attached to it! You kept after me, stimulating me any way you could, until I could perform again!” Scotty bit his lips together. “You reached places that I didn’t know could get breached with a tongue. One thing I can say for you, though. You’re sure a hard worker. It's a wonder your tongue didn't fall out of your mouth, though.”

Well, that explained that awful taste in his mouth and his sore tongue, McCoy decided.

"Tell me why the lights are burning on full power," McCoy asked. He was hoping for some normalcy. "The most anyone generally uses to sleep is ten percent. Why are your quarters lit up like an airport runway?"

"That's all you would allow," Scotty explained with obvious disgust reflected in his voice. "You wanted to see me, and you wanted me to see you. No mysteries between us, you said. There weren't any, of that I can assure you. You sure know your way around a human body." He grinned, almost shyly. "And how to stimulate it."

McCoy groaned. This surely was the world's worst nightmare! Surely!

Scotty calmed as he realized that what he was saying was all news to McCoy. McCoy’s stunned face confirmed it.

Scotty continued in a softer voice. “And the reason why my breath smelled so bad this morning was from taking your manhood into my mouth and from swallowing as much of that mighty beast that I could endure without gagging or strangling.”

McCoy’s eyes enlarged.

“And from rimming that magnificent arsehole of yours," Scotty informed him. "You couldn’t get enough of my tongue wallowing around inside you glory hole. You really had a taste for it. Well, I guess when I think about it, I was the one with the taste for it, wasn’t I? You had all sorts of improper names for what what we were doing, though.”

“Anilingus,” McCoy supplied with a hollow voice.

“Yeah. That, too.”

“But, what happened? Why would I do those things? Why did YOU do those things?! Did we get that drunk that we just lost control?”

“Aye. I think that was part of it. But mainly I think it was my getting soaking wet when the water coolant emptied out of one of the reactors when I was trying to fix its drum.”

“You could have been drowned,” McCoy said with awe, his eyes staring, halfway remembering the crisis in Engineering. “We saw you, Jim and Spock and I, while you were battling to fix it,” McCoy continued with fixed eyes, seeing again the horror of the crisis and the heroism of the Chief Engineer. “The whole ship could have blown since the atomic pile wasn’t being cooled.” He lifted his head, his eyes wide with remembered awe. “But you got in there and got the water flowing again. But you were soaked, soaked, soaked to the skin. And we couldn’t help. We just had to stand there and watch. And then congratulate you when the whole crisis was over. And you were so wet. And shaking with chills and the aftermath of excitement. I worried about pneumonia.”

“You said it reminded you of the first time you’d seen me. Just after Jim and I beamed onto the Enterprise at warp speed when that technology hadn’t been discovered yet in your timeline. Mr. Spock was shitting a brick because the captain wouldn't tell him how we'd managed to do that, and I was caught between a need for a thirsty towel and the enjoyment of all the excitement on the Enterprise. You remembered my hair plastered over my forehead and my clothing clinging to me. Why that appealed to you, I do not know. But you said I looked so vulnerable. And yet at the same time, something safe.”

“Yes. Safe,” McCoy echoed, haunted by the words. "And somehow, the sexiest thing I'd seen in ages."

"The vulnerability, I suppose."

McCoy felt some tingle notch up inside him as a wisp of sexual fever fanned his brow. His eyes hardened in remembrance. "Yeah."

“Maybe we can have a rematch!” McCoy yelled at Scotty’s retreating figure.

“Yeah, yeah,” Scotty muttered. “Let me get my second wind at least. The Wee Man Himself is about worn down to a nubbin.”

McCoy felt a heartbeat in his throat. “We could give the Wee Man Himself a rest! You don’t have to do all the work, you know!”

Scotty froze, then finally turned with a frown of skepticism on his face. He tried not to, but his eyes slid down McCoy’s naked frame to McCoy’s own Willy. McCoy could have sworn that Scotty’s eyes widened. In interest? In fear? In doubt?

McCoy could have also sworn that Scotty’s throat moved in a visible gulp.

Scotty’s eyes blazed with scathing cynicism. “You let me know when that miracle happens, alright? Doctor dear?” The term had none of the respect and warmth it was meant to have. Now, from Scotty’s mouth, it just sounded like a jibe. “You might not remember what went on during the wee hours, but I sure as hell do. You didn’t do any of the steering. You were having too much fun on the receiving end. Why would you be wanting any of that to change?”

McCoy took it like a challenge. An undeserved, bitter challenge. He flinched from Spock’s bitterness, yet almost gulped from the physical dare.

It was an affront to McCoy’s manhood. “You think I couldn’t get it up for the likes of you?!”

“Oh, Doctor, it isn’t a contest,” Scotty said in a tired voice. “We had our fun. Let it rest at that, okay?”

If this was an ending, McCoy wasn’t liking it. Something felt hollow, off, wrong. 

Scotty was just disgusted. “I gotta get last night washed off myself,” he muttered. “I smell like a boar hog in heat. Which I probably was.” Then he let himself into the bathroom.

McCoy couldn’t seem to get his muddled thoughts straightened out. Here he had participated in a wild night of lovemaking that he couldn’t remember. Lovemaking that he had not only tolerated and allowed, but had encouraged and apparently demanded. Had demanded, not only once, but multiple times. With multiple parts of his body involved.

McCoy groaned. Apparently he had thrown his inhibitions not only aside, but had forgotten completely that he ever had any restrictions on himself or his partner.

McCoy heard the stool flush and knew that he needed to leave before Scotty appeared again. If their morning encounter had been strained and awkward before, now it would be downright inappropriate and stale. The sex was over for them. They needed to go back to their old roles and forget the preceding night had ever happened. And let it remain what it was: A one-night stand that needed to be forgotten for both of their sakes.

It would be easier for McCoy to do so since he could not remember what had happened. It would be tougher on Scotty who did remember, but he had memories he could relive if he was so inclined. Right now, the sensible thing was for McCoy to disappear and let this incident bury itself in a dark corner of both of their lives. They were older men with many secret heartaches already stored away. This would be just another misbegotten interlude that would never be talked about again. The only record would be a new wrinkle on the face or a certain sadness to the eyes. For no matter how awkward it had come to them, it had still been love. And it's always sad when love is lost.

McCoy had dressed himself and was just headed for the door when he heard the shower start, and that stopped him short. All he could see was a naked Scotty, wet and with his hair plastered to his forehead as he had first seen him. An impossible sexual weakness coursed through McCoy, and his body began to shake with need. Without thinking of anything but the wet man in the shower, McCoy shinnied out of his clothes, grabbed the tube of lube off the bedside table, and plunged into the bathroom.

When the bathroom door flew open, Scotty looked up, startled, with water running down his face. He saw McCoy’s twitching penis, hard eyes, grim mouth, and the lube in his hand. Scotty seemed to collapse with surrender or disgust, McCoy didn’t know which. But right now, McCoy didn’t care if Scotty put up a fight or not. McCoy had a mission of his own. And he was afraid that if he thought about what he was about to do too much, either he or his penis would chicken out.

But right now, though, his penis was excited as hell. So McCoy decided to follow it to wherever it might take him. He'd heard of men who were pussy whipped, and he figured he wasn't being the first guy in history to be led around by his penis. And it seemed to be honing in on Scotty as if it was tracking him on radar.

Scotty waited until McCoy stepped into the small shower. After all, where could he go? It would look awkward as hell to try to scurry around McCoy in an effort to escape. After the night they'd just shared together, it was rather late to preserve his honor or dignity. He decided, instead, to try to appeal to McCoy's common sense.

“You know you’re crazy, don't you?!” Scotty yelled above the noise of the running water.

McCoy's only answer was an increase in the sparks of interest in his eyes. This close, Scotty was almost irresistible with his pale, pale face highlighted with the occasional freckle. But what really impressed McCoy, of course, was that straggly hair plastered against that fair Nordic skin. Scotty looked so vulnerable. And available. And defenseless.

Scotty could read what McCoy was thinking and a pulse quickened in his throat. "It's wrong and stupid! Especially now! Last night, maybe! But not now!"

All that got him was to be spun around and slammed face-first into the shower wall. “Oof!” he said as his hands flew up to steady himself. "Be careful, you eejit! It's all attached and it all has nerve endings."

“Shut up!” McCoy ordered. “Spread your legs!”

“Ain’t you even gonna buy me dinner first?”

"Helluva time to try for humor."

Scotty flinched from the clawing around of McCoy's inept fingers. He would've thought a doctor at least would've been gentler, but he probably wasn't meeting the medical side of McCoy at the moment. Scotty wisely decided not to bring that point up. "You know the water's just gonna wash off that lube, don't you?"

"You can only hope that some of it gets in you," McCoy growled hotly in Scotty's ear. Then all of that nearby flesh looked so vulnerable and unprotected that McCoy sank his teeth into the nape of Scotty's neck.

Scotty screamed from the pain and the savagery. It was all that McCoy could do to hang onto the writhing man as McCoy suckled at the blood he hoped was rising from the wound. Good! Good! He wanted to see blood! He wanted to taste blood! He wanted Scotty to bleed, first from this end and then from the other.

"You don't need to claim me!" Scotty yelled out in misery. "You don't need to mark me! Jasus, man! Show some mercy!"

McCoy could not think beyond the madness that was consuming him. He could not see beyond his unquenchable need to have Scotty's vulnerable body. "Shut up, before I bite deeper and scar you!"

"I never done anything this rough to you! I was never this brutal! Never!"

Something about the hopelessness in Scotty's voice registered with McCoy, and he knew that he was on the edge of being disgusted with himself if he didn't modify his behavior. McCoy spun Scotty around.

"Are you saying that you don't like it rough?"

"I don't mind a good sporting match. I'd be lying if I said I didn't. I've participated in some pretty good cat fights in my time. But I've always stayed human." He paused while water streamed down his face and over his body. "And so has my partner."

McCoy flinched. "I suppose you want to be made love to?! Is that it?! Would you be satisfied then to give into me?!"

Scotty stood pinned with his hands still high above his head, but at least he could breath easier. But this new position also put him face to face with the wild-looking McCoy. Not much of an improvement, he decided.

"I would like some gentleness," he confessed. "What we did last night.... It was consensual. It might have been wild and wanton, but it was what we were both wanting at the time. I never did anything to you that you didn't agree to, or instigate. While this...." His face, though still appealing with his wet hair plastered on his pale forehead, had a disgusted, disinterested look on it. "This is just demeaning. For both of us."

Talk about Willy deflating! McCoy felt his own wither as if the stimulating warm water of the shower had suddenly turned icy cold.

"I-I'm sorry," McCoy apologized with lowered head as he started to pull away.

But Scotty grabbed McCoy's elbows and hung onto him. There was desperation in his clawing hands, and it was reflected in his anguished eyes.

"What?!" McCoy demanded. "What's this about?! Aren't you sending me away?"

"Only if you want to go," Scotty said softly. He searched McCoy's eyes. "Only if you can."

That was the only encouragement that McCoy needed. With a moan of complete abandonment, he scooped Scotty up in his arms and caught his mouth in an emotionally shattering kiss. Scotty frowned as his own need took control of him. He growled low in his throat and threw his arms around McCoy's shoulders. They landed hard against the shower wall with Scotty's body pressed into hard by McCoy's. After that, it was every man for himself as hands and mouth and teeth and tongues set out on a exploring journey that only increased their mutual passion.

At one point Scotty turned off the water. It was starting to cool anyway, or maybe their bodies were heated to a higher degree than even it was.

"Find the damn lube, doctor dear," he gasped out. "I think you dropped it on the shower floor."

"Shut up, or else I'll not wait until we get back to your bed. I'll lean you over the sink and take you there."

That seemed like such a good idea that they didn't even wait to get to the bed for their first time that morning. Besides, it saved the bedclothes from getting all wet from the water streaming off their bodies.

At least for a little while.

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing of Star Trek, its characters, and/or its storylines.


End file.
